Soft Target ss-2

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Of course he does,’ she said. ‘No one’s trying to take him away from you. But he’s been with us for most of the past four months, and when you do come it’s usually a flying visit. It’s not as if your job is nine to five, is it?’

  Shepherd opened his mouth to reply but shut it again when he heard a key in the front door. He stood up and smiled when Tom Wintour walked in. ‘Dan, good to see you,’ he said. ‘I was wondering whose car that was out front. Where’s the CRV?’

  ‘It’s a loaner,’ said Shepherd.‘The CRV’s in London.’

  Tom shook hands with him, then dropped his battered leather briefcase under the kitchen table. ‘Are you staying?’ he asked, as he sat down at the table next to Moira. He was portly with receding grey hair and thick horn-rimmed glasses. He was a bank manager and looked the part in his dark blue pinstriped suit, starched white shirt and inoffensive tie.

  Moira poured him a cup of tea. ‘Of course he’s staying,’ she said.

  ‘I was going to bunk at the barracks, but Moira insisted,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You’ll be able to have breakfast with Liam,’ said Tom. He sipped his tea. ‘Did Moira tell you we’ve been talking about Liam’s future?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Moira.

  ‘We love having him here,’ said Tom. ‘There’s plenty of room. There’s the garden. The school is only ten minutes away.’

  ‘I was telling Daniel about the school,’ said Moira.

  ‘I appreciate the offer,Tom, really I do, but I want Liam with me.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Tom. ‘That’s where he belongs. But until your situation is a bit more stable, why not let him stay with us?’

  ‘I don’t see him enough as it is,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘But how is that going to change if you take him back to London and get a housekeeper?’ asked Moira.

  She and Tom were facing him and Shepherd felt as if he was being grilled in a police interrogation room. He toyed with the idea of refusing to say anything until his lawyer arrived.

  ‘He’ll be in the care of a stranger most of the time. The agencies that fix up housekeepers can be a nightmare. Half the time they don’t even know the girls they’re dealing with. At least here Liam is with family,’ Moira added.

  ‘I’m his family,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘We’re his grandparents, Daniel. We have rights, too.’

  Shepherd didn’t want to argue with them. He knew they only had Liam’s best interests at heart. And, besides, they were right. ‘I’ll make sure I get someone decent,’ he said. ‘I’ll check references and stuff. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘And what happens if you’re sent away from London?’ said Moira. ‘Susan said you were away all the time.’

  ‘Not all the time,’ said Shepherd, defensively. But, again, he knew she was right. He could as easily be assigned to a case in Aberdeen as London. And while he was always free to turn down an assignment, he doubted that Hargrove would keep him on the team if he only accepted jobs close to his home. ‘Even if the case is outside London, I’ll be able to get home at night and at weekends more often than not.’

  ‘Daniel, you’ve been in Manchester for the past week,’ said Moira, patiently.

  Shepherd took a deep breath. It would have been easier if his mother-in-law had been shouting at him but she was calm and reasonable, the logic of her argument forcing him into a corner. ‘I want to try,’ he said. ‘If it doesn’t work out, I’ll rethink my situation. But I was a good father when Sue was alive, and I don’t see that I’m going to be a bad one now that she’s gone.’

  ‘Nobody’s suggesting that,’said Tom.‘We just want the best for your boy.’ He sighed and ran his finger around the rim of his cup. ‘Have you thought about moving jobs within the force?’

  ‘Pounding a beat, you mean?’

  ‘There are jobs, surely, that would allow you to spend more time at home.’

  It was something Sue had raised a few weeks before she’d died. Shepherd had said he’d think about it, but in his heart of hearts he knew he’d never ask for a transfer to a desk job. He’d given up his army career without hesitation when Sue had become pregnant with Liam. Life in the SAS was dangerous at the best of times and he had narrowly escaped death in Afghanistan after taking a sniper’s bullet in the shoulder. But it was only after he’d been recruited into Hargrove’s undercover unit that he’d discovered police work could be every bit as dangerous as serving with special forces. At least when he was in the SAS he had had a pretty good idea of who was going to be taking pot-shots at him. Now that he mixed with the criminal fraternity, he never knew who might decide to stick a knife in his back, both literally and figuratively. It was what gave the job its edge. There were times when it was considerably more stressful than going into battle with men you trusted with your life. But he couldn’t tell Tom and Moira that. He always downplayed his police work with them, as he had with Sue.

  ‘I can’t be stuck in an office,’ said Shepherd, and immediately regretted the words – that was exactly where Tom Wintour had been for the past thirty years. ‘I need to be out and about . . .’ he added. Tom was a good man and had done a sterling job in raising Sue and taking care of Moira. While it wasn’t a life that Shepherd could have lived, he respected the man as a good father and husband. ‘ . . . there are fewer perks when you’re office-bound. I get travelling expenses, overnight expenses, lots of overtime. It makes a big difference to my pay cheque.’

  ‘Money isn’t everything, Daniel,’ said Moira.

  Shepherd forced himself to smile. ‘No, but it’ll make our life easier,’ he said.

  ‘Just think about it,’ said Tom. ‘He’d have stability here, and he wouldn’t have the problems you get in inner-city schools these days.’

  ‘What problems?’asked Shepherd.‘I live in Ealing.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Daniel, we read the papers,’ said Moira. ‘Drugs, shootings, classrooms full of asylum-seekers.’

  ‘You don’t want to believe everything you read in the Daily Mail.’

  ‘It’s not about what paper we read,’ said Moira. ‘It’s about the quality of education. The schools in London, the state ones anyway, are dire, and you can’t argue with that.’

  ‘Liam’s school is fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘Sue went to a great deal of trouble to make sure we were in the right catchment area. Anyway, it’s not about schools. I’ll send him private if I have to. It’s about my son being with me, and I’m sorry, but that’s not negotiable.’ His stomach was churning and his heart pounding. ‘I don’t want to fight, I really don’t.’

  Tom smiled sympathetically. ‘It’s not a fight, it’s a discussion about what’s best for Liam.’

  ‘I know,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Let’s just leave it for the moment, shall we? You’re here, Liam’s here. Moira can cook us some supper and I’ll open a bottle of wine.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll go and help Liam with his homework.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Tom. ‘Red or white?’

  ‘Whatever you’re having is fine,’ said Shepherd. He saw Moira and Tom exchange a worried look as he left the kitchen. Despite Tom’s conciliatory words he knew that there had been only a temporary cessation in hostilities. The war would continue.

  Sewell flicked through the TV channels. Comedy shows, gardening, a quiz hosted by an effeminate comic. A leaflet on top of the TV explained how to access the paid-for system. A dozen new-release movies were on offer, with four pornographic films. The hotel charged ten pounds each, but Sewell decided that the police could pay for an orgasm or two. At the bottom of the leaflet a brief note informed guests that the hotel was equipped with wi-fi, allowing guests to access the Internet without connecting through a phone line.

  ‘Thank God for four-star hotels,’ muttered Sewell. He sat down at the dressing-table, opened the laptop and tapped his fingers impatiently as the computer booted up. He flicked the wi-fi switch and waited while the machine searched for a frequency to lock on to. A bubble app
eared at the bottom right of the screen. WIRELESS CONNECTION AVAILABLE. Sewell was online.

  He launched Outlook Express and waited as more than forty emails dropped into his inbox. There were a dozen from contacts on the dating service he’d joined. He didn’t bother reading them. Most of the rest were junk, offering everything from penile extensions to American university degrees. There were a dozen emails from clients and four from people at work. Nothing from Hendrickson, of course. Sewell cursed under his breath. He was looking forward to sitting in court the day Hendrickson was sentenced. Fifteen years to life, Hargrove had said. Sewell intended to give Hendrickson a piece of his mind before they took him away.

  There were two emails from clients he often played golf with, asking why he hadn’t turned up on Saturday, and one from his stockbroker, tipping a couple of shares. Nothing urgent.

  He closed Outlook Express and opened Internet Explorer. He was able to access his two personal bank accounts online and checked them both. There had been no withdrawals, but Sewell hadn’t expected to see any. There was no way Hendrickson could access them, even if Sewell was declared dead. It was the office accounts he was worried about, but he couldn’t get to them online.

  He went to the company website and logged on, typing his user ID and password. Nothing much had changed since he’d been in the office. A few more orders had been placed. He went through to the accounts section and flicked through it. Everything was as it should have been. But Sewell was worried about the company bank accounts. He sat back and chewed his lower lip. He hated not knowing what Hendrickson was doing.

  He closed Internet Explorer and opened Outlook Express again. He wrote an email to John Garden, swearing the lawyer to secrecy and asking him to check the status of the company bank accounts. Garden ran the company’s legal department as well as acting as Sewell’s private legal adviser and had been with him even before he’d set up the company. Sewell hesitated before he sent the email. The superintendent had been unequivocal about him not making contact with anybody until Hendrickson was in custody. ‘So sue me for not obeying your every word,’ Sewell said, and pressed send.

  Shepherd tucked the quilt under Liam’s chin. ‘Good night, sleep tight, hope the bedbugs don’t bite,’ he said, and kissed his son on the forehead.

  ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’ asked Liam, sleepily.

  ‘Sure. I’ll have breakfast with you and drive you to school.’

  ‘And will you pick me up?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve some work to do at the barracks. Some training.’

  ‘Secret Squirrel?’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘Yes. Secret Squirrel.’

  ‘Are you going back in the army?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘So you’re going back to London?’

  ‘In a day or two.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘I’ve got to get us an au pair fixed up first, but as soon as I’ve done that you can be back in your old room.’

  ‘Soon?’ Liam’s eyes were half closed and Shepherd could see he was struggling to stay awake.

  ‘Soon,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘Okay.’ Liam’s eyelids fluttered and closed.

  Shepherd stroked his cheek. ‘Sweet dreams, kid,’ he said.

  Shepherd woke up and tried to work out where he was. He relaxed when he remembered he was in Moira and Tom’s house, in the double bed he had shared with Sue whenever they had stayed over. He looked at his watch. It was seven thirty. He could hear Moira downstairs in the kitchen, getting breakfast ready.

  He slid out of bed, shaved, showered and changed into a clean shirt and jeans. Liam was sitting at the kitchen table, spooning porridge into his mouth. ‘Hiya, kid, what time do we have to leave for school?’

  ‘Half past eight,’ Liam replied.

  ‘Liam, not with your mouth full,’ admonished Moira. ‘Egg and bacon, Daniel?’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Shepherd. His mother-in-law was a first-class cook and served a great fry-up. ‘Egg and bacon’ was her shorthand for eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread, tomato and baked beans. He helped himself to coffee. ‘Where’s Tom?’ he asked, sitting next to Liam.

  ‘Tom leaves at seven on the dot,’ said Moira, ladling beans on to his plate. ‘He likes to be first in. Makes a point of it. He hasn’t had a day off sick in twenty-seven years. What about you? What are you doing today?’

  ‘It’s Secret Squirrel, Gran,’ said Liam. He took a couple of gulps from a tall glass of orange juice.

  ‘Just training,’ said Shepherd. ‘Nothing exciting.’ He didn’t want to tell his son or Moira that he was going to spend all morning firing handguns to get his accuracy up to the level expected by SO19.

  He tucked into his fry-up, and Liam went upstairs to get ready for school.

  ‘Shall I pick him up this afternoon?’ asked Moira, and poured herself a cup of tea.

  ‘What time does he finish?’

  ‘Half past three.’

  ‘Thing is, I’m not sure what time I’m going back to London.’

  ‘But you’ll be here this evening?’

  ‘I hope so, but it’s not up to me. The Regiment’s handling transport.’

  ‘This coming and going doesn’t do Liam any good at all,’ said Moira. She sighed. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to nag.’

  ‘I’ll phone you when I’m done,’ said Shepherd, ‘and, whatever happens, I’ll be back at the weekend.’

  Liam reappeared with his schoolbag. Shepherd wolfed down the last of his breakfast, picked up his overnight bag and took his son to the car. Liam gave him directions, and Shepherd realised he’d never even seen the school his son went to. He had no idea who his teacher was. He started to ask questions about it, but Liam was monosyllabic. ‘It’s not my school, Dad,’ he said eventually. ‘My school’s in London.’

  ‘I know,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘London’s where my friends are.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So don’t keep asking me about it. I won’t be here long.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Will I?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  Shepherd pulled up and Liam unclipped his seat-belt. ‘I’ll see you tonight, yeah?’

  Shepherd nodded.

  ‘You will be here, won’t you?’ asked Liam.

  ‘I’ll do my best, kid,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Cross my heart.’

  Liam beamed, slung his bag over his shoulder and ran to the gate. Shepherd knew he’d been playing with words and was suddenly ashamed. He had promised he’d try to be there, but that was not how Liam had understood it. So far as Liam was concerned, Shepherd had promised to be there, and that was a promise he couldn’t make. Telling people what they wanted to hear was part of working undercover, but it was no way for a father to talk to his son.

  Larry Hendrickson was sitting with his feet on the desk and sipping his second cup of coffee when his intercom buzzed. It was his secretary telling him that Norman Baston was outside and wanted a word. Hendrickson told her to send him in. Baston was the firm’s IT team leader, a nerdish computer geek with slicked-back hair and two PhDs. He rarely left the computer room so Hendrickson realised it had to be important. Either something was wrong with the system or he had received another job offer and wanted his salary bumped up again. He was already earning six figures, but was worth every penny. The problem was, he knew it.

  ‘How’s it going, Norm?’ asked Hendrickson, swinging his feet off the desk.

  ‘Have you heard from Roger?’ asked Baston. He had few social graces and never made small-talk. He was far more comfortable with his computers than he was with people.

  ‘Not since last week,’ said Hendrickson.

  ‘Any idea where he is?’

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Maybe nothing, but he logged on yesterday and went through the accounts system. I
just wondered if something was wrong.’

  Hendrickson fought to stay calm. ‘If there was a problem, I’m sure he’d mention it to me.’

  ‘When’s he coming in?’

  ‘Like I said, I haven’t spoken to him since before the weekend, but he didn’t say he was going anywhere.’

  ‘We had a meeting fixed up today. Thursday, ten fifteen. His secretary says he hasn’t been in all week.’

  ‘You know what Roger’s like.’

  ‘He hasn’t even spoken to Barbara.’

  ‘It’s only Thursday, and it’s not as if the ship will sink if he’s not at the helm, is it? Have you tried his mobile?’

  ‘Goes straight through to voicemail.’

  Hendrickson’s mind was whirling from the ramifications of what Baston had said. Sewell couldn’t have logged on because he was in a shallow grave in the New Forest. So who had got hold of his User ID and password? The only person that came to mind was Tony Nelson. Had he decided to make some extra money by stealing from the company? He might have tortured Sewell before he killed him, forced him to hand over details of the company bank accounts. Hendrickson tried to appear calm. As far as anyone in the company was concerned, Sewell had gone AWOL for a few days. It wasn’t unusual, and it was far too early for Hendrickson to show signs of concern. ‘Email?’ he suggested.

  ‘I’ll send one now. I just thought maybe he’d said something to you.’

  Hendrickson shook his head. ‘I’m sure it’s not worth worrying about.’

  Baston put his left thumb to his mouth and began to gnaw at the nail. He ambled out of the office.

  Hendrickson stood up and began to pace. Everything had been going exactly as planned. Sewell was dead and buried. Hendrickson had yet to call in the police, but when he did they’d find the house empty. They’d check the hospitals, maybe the ports and airports, run a check on Sewell’s credit cards. It would become a mystery that they’d never solve. Hendrickson knew Sewell liked to meet women through on-line dating agencies and chatrooms: at some point he’d suggest that maybe he had met someone online and either run off with them or been murdered. After a respectable amount of time he’d tighten his control over the company, sack Sewell’s people and bring in his own. There’d be no need to sell the company, not when he was in sole control. That was the plan – but now Nelson was threatening to ruin everything. He wanted to scream with frustration and hurl his coffee mug at the wall, but he fought to stay calm. Now was not the time to lose his temper. He had to stay in control. He’d hired one killer. Now all he had to do was find another and get him to take care of Nelson. It was just a question of money, and Hendrickson had more than enough of that.